


Beneath the Sand

by Louffox



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Gore, M/M, Strex, Typical Desert Bluffs Violence, gorewise it's nothing we haven't heard before, look around you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:29:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louffox/pseuds/Louffox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First, there was desert. The company came- but they weren't there first. Something much older was already there, had always been there. A terror creature fit for a terror corporation. He arose with a smile and the tide followed.</p><p>A Kevin origins story. Also a Desert Bluffs origins story. The two are the same, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arisen

**Author's Note:**

> This may be only three or four chapters long, I'm not sure. I started this a long while ago and only got about two paragraphs out, but got distracted. With the sudden onset of Greater-Desert-Bluffs-Metropolitan-Area-mania, I found myself resuming it. So! I think I know where I'm going with this. Maybe. Who knows what's going to happen- we'll find out together!

It was waiting for them in the desert.

 

They had no sinister plans for that place, for once. Well, relatively non-sinister. In the paperwork that had been filed, it hadn’t required a WL-16 for Sinister Actions, so it was, for all intents and purposes, ‘innocent’. Or as innocent as things would get for the dystopian corpocratic regime that was Strex Corp.

It was a drilling expedition. Their satellites had been updated with the new scanning system that was supposed to be able to detect certain things within the earth. It had tested perfectly for making new quarries for expensive stone and gems, and oil had been the next step. So they scanned, and they went where the satellites pointed with a collection of professionals at oil drilling. They began starting to set up in the desert, settling in for what would surely be a long, successful business venture. The operation would likely exist for years, so they had drawn up an entire town, built around the liquefied, aged, and delightfully combustible remains of dinosaurs.

When they realized there was no oil, several engineers had their names scored from the patent and their existence scored from this plane. The drillers left.

They were almost immediately replaced with scientists of all types when the situation became truly clear. They hadn’t found oil, but they’d found power. Something infinitely more valuable and rare and strange.

They’d found a _god_.

Maybe there had been a construction worker or a driller or some other person working the oil operation who’d dawdled when they were abandoning the site. Perhaps he had removed the drill, or touched a part of something that was plunged deep into the earth. Or maybe he just had opened his mouth and swallowed the god in the guise of a locust on accident. Maybe this man had tripped on a stone protruding from the sand and pulled it out to find an ancient tablet, and read it out loud. Maybe his name had been Kevin.

Or maybe Kevin had just created his own body, and the name was of his own choosing.

Either way, one moment, there was sand and desert, and the next there was Kevin, all bloody smiles and bright void eyes and everything-is-peachy-keen voice. He insisted that he was just a radio host. (The scientists speculated where an eons-old, happily bloodthirsty, underground deity had gotten the notion of radio, and eventually concluded that radio waves had been his only company for decades. Or maybe he was just insane- that was a point of extreme debate and concern in the lower circles. The higher-ups had been there longer, and had paper thin ideas of morality and safety.) He insisted that he had no power of his own, that it was all a blessing from the Smiling God, and encouraged everyone else to believe.

Strex loved him, especially his form of ‘encouragement’. It was like Kevin had been made for them. He fit right in.

They tried to elevate him to a higher position in the company, to aim him where they wanted, but he clung to the idea of a radio host. Eventually, they conceded, and when they started to wash the blood from the walls, he protested and said it was perfect, to leave it be.

What a creature, they laughed, clapping him on the back.

So they gave him a radio building, and then when they resumed work first thing in the morning, they found an entire town had risen up in the night. People, young and old, inhabited it, and insisted they’d always lived there, and had for generations. A library that included a long history of the town, dating back past the dust bowl, all the way to the Louisiana Purchase, had appeared, along with a school system, several restaurants, a few farms, businesses, houses, classical town landscape, and even pets. There was an ice cream shop and a grocery store and a pony petting zoo.

And it all claimed that Strex owned it, that Strex had always owned it. Strex owned Desert Bluffs.

Strex chose not to argue over that, and agreed that they had indeed owned everything. And suddenly the corporation was moving all of its main strongholds and departments to Desert Bluffs. It became their global headquarters. It was everything they couldn’t have even dreamed of. It was impossible and perfect.

They worked closely with Kevin, but kept him as a radio host. Subtly dropped hints of what they wanted were enough to keep things going smoothly, and kept him happy, as he point-blank refused the idea (with a smile and a laugh, of course) that he was anything but a radio voice.

Their only expense in the entire town was the constant need for new interns at the radio station, but people were expendable, they weren’t a finite source. There were plenty.

They found that Kevin liked baseball and raccoons and had a massive sweet tooth. He loved work and blood and the Smiling God. He voiced how violence was abhorrent to him, and how nobody should want anything but peace and hugs and music, all the while tearing into an intern to moisten his soundboard with viscous coppery fluid.

In fact, most of the town was like that. It was as though a switch had flipped within their heads- ‘fun’ meant ‘work’ and ‘hugs’ were ‘strangulation’ and ‘joy’ was ‘massacre’. Strex often had ‘parties’ in Desert Bluffs to test, and the more the streets ran with blood, the wider the smiles, the louder the laughs.

It made sense- it all came from Kevin, and Kevin had that odd joy in viciousness.

The Strex CEO died in one of the parties, overeager to experience it himself, and his son stepped up, a mathematical genius and with a mean streak ten times that of his old man. He immediately was informed of Desert Bluffs, the secret prize of Strex, and took his plane to see.

 

 


	2. Of Light

Diego was expressionless as he stepped off the plane and immediately into a sleek black car. He made no mention of the blood on the front bumper.

"I want to meet with the creature. Now," he said to the driver. It wasn't spoken sharply or firmly or loudly- it was not an ordering voice. Everything from Diego was an order, his casual colloquial voice was as good as law.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but his show is on right now, he- he can't be seen." When he glanced at the CEO in his rearview mirror and saw the faintest downturn at the corners of his lips, his face went bloodless with fear. “You really- you just can’t- Kevin won’t… I can take you there, but I don’t recommend it.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” Diego said slowly. Coldly. He put his feet up on the console, sure to scuff the leather.

“Right. Sorry, sir, I’ll… I’ll just take you there,” he said hurriedly, looking straight forward at the road. Both of them knew he would die, though each had their own reasons- Diego slated him for death for insubordination, but the driver knew that their destination would be his end.

The driver was right.

He parked in the radio station lot, the only car there, and rushed out to open the door for the young CEO. He then escorted him inside. People in the building, interns and scientists, nodded respectfully at Diego and cleared out of their way, moving up against the damp walls to clear their path. Diego was mindless of the equally, if more so, damp floor and carpets. that bubbled with red where he stepped.

When they approached the booth, the driver stopped. He raised his hand, curled in a fist, to knock, and hesitated for one second while he silently prayed for his family, and then rapped twice on the door.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

And then the door was opened, the driver was snatched inside, and the door closed again. From inside, Diego could hear the unique sound of cracking bones and shredding flesh, and the heavy wet noise of viscera freed from its bag of skin that contained it. His eyebrows lifted slightly. More intrigued than ever to meet the creature, he stifled his eagerness and instead went into the other room to wait for the show to end. He pulled out his phone and tuned it to the radio so he could listen.

“-so kind of him to come and help, just when my soundboard was needing a little upgrading! The last one who came and helped- I think he was a drinker, listeners! And we know how inefficient alcoholic livers are, both inside the body and outside the body. Look, we all know that it’s a necessity to drink to forget sometimes. But drinking more than the mandated amount to forget- no self respecting, loyal and honest employee would even entertain the thought!"

The voice was not at all what he'd expected. There was a distinct lack of malice in it- the voice was damn near cheery. Not gleeful, which can be wicked, but cheerful. It was a pure, joyous, innocent voice. Diego liked pure things. He liked to bask in it, really savor the innocence and lack of cynicism. And then he liked to sully it.

The show continued, talking about local intramural games- Kevin said "baseball," but Diego knew that it had actually been a game with Middle America origins and had resulted in several broken bones and sacrificing the losing team right there on the sand with an ancient, rusty scythe. He mentioned a fireworks show the previous night, the status of the stock market, and the new clothes store that was opening. (In reality the fireworks had been a flash fire and the clothes store was advertising thorn-lined jackets and kid gloves - made with actual kids.)The show concluded with a hair-raising sort of rumbling roar and Kevin's cheerful signing off.

Diego sat patiently, unmoving, waiting. And then finally, there it was.

There were three things Diego noticed. First was the blood- it streaked up his hands and a little way up his bared forearms and a light smattering of it on the rolled cuffs of his sleeves, and streaked lines from a last arterial spray across his front, and a few smears on his face from where he'd leaned on his hands. Second was the creature's eyes- black void. And third was the smile- upturned lips pulled back to reveal shiny, metallic razorblade teeth, thin and jagged.

Diego had been reliably informed that he was heartless. And he'd agreed. But at that moment, his body obstinately insisted that he did have a heart, and it had been waiting for this moment, this place, this time, this creature.

If he was prone to foolish statements and sentiment, he would've said he fell in love instantly.

"Kevin, at last. I've been waiting to meet you. My name is Diego. I'm the CEO of Strex," he introduced. They shook hands. Diego never shook hands. Kevin’s skin was inhumanly hot, and touching him was like laying a hand on sunbaked asphalt at high noon.

"Oh! You're the new CEO?" Kevin said excitedly. Diego wondered how he spoke without shedding his lips and tongue with that tangle of blade teeth.

"I'm not a fan of 'new' CEO- I'm not new, I am now. My father's time is past, and I am now present," he said, cold.

"Wow! That's so profound, Mr. Strex," Kevin gushed, pulling out a chair and sitting. His entire posture- leaned forward, elbows on the table, face alert, chin up- conveyed absolute interest, as though Diego was the only other person in the world. Diego put an elbow on the table as well, resting his chin on his hand demurely.

"Call me Diego."

"Okay! So, Diego, what can I do for Strex today?" Diego wanted to touch those teeth, see if it would take any pressure at all to draw blood, see if their shiny steel surfaces were slick or just smooth.

"I just wanted to get to know you. What can you tell me about yourself?" he asked.

"Well," he said in that breathless way that cheerful, excitable people sometimes do, "I'm Kevin, the radio host for Desert Bluffs. I've lived here all my life. I like radio, stocks, Strex, the Smiling God, ponies, frozen yogurt, honey, and racing games. Usually I get up early to do a round of the town to see what’s up, so I can report with as first-hand news as possible. I bring a bag lunch every day except Wednesday and Saturday. When I sign off for the day, I hang around for a bit until everyone has gone home and then I lock up and bike home. Wallace- my raccoon- always greets me at the door. I like a drink before bed- I’ll have wine or whiskey, depending on my day.” He laughed like a child, and Diego marveled at the innocence of the sound coming from a man-creature with blood to his elbows.

“I too enjoy frozen yogurt. I hope I’ll accompany you sometime,” he said casually. “You’re a very dapper character, Kevin. Are you always so… bright?”

“Bright? I’m just a dull snowflake compared to the heat and light of the Smiling God,” he said, shaking his head and, if possible, smiling wider. “But… yes, I suppose I am. I do get upset when people don’t work. And when people just aren’t reaching their full potential- I want to reach out and whisk away everything preventing them from being perfect beings, like brushing away a cobweb,” he said, gesturing with a wide sweep of his hand as if to show. It was less of a brush and more of a slash through the air. Diego noted his nails were black, slightly curved, and tapered sharply to short points.

“Well, you can be sure that under my lead, I’ll be certain that everyone works hard.”

“The old CEO- your father, right?- he was pretty good at that too. But- not to speak ill of the dead!- something tells me that you’re somehow… _more_. More than he ever was.”

“I think there’s more to you too, Kevin.” The bloody creature made a delighted sound and covered his mouth bashfully. Diego’s watch beeped. “However, I must go. I have some slightly pressing matters to attend to.” He had several meetings scheduled for the day, intending to show that, even with jet lag, he wasn’t just the coddled CEO’s son. It meant nothing. The other higher-ups would doubtlessly seek to make a puppet of him, expecting a silly spoiled boy, no doubt.

Any who tried to minimize Diego’s existence would forevermore exist only as a stain of blood and bone and brain on the wall.

To dismiss himself from Kevin’s presence, he did something that most would consider inconceivably out-of-character for him. But, though he lacked the godlike power and physical manifestations of his inhumanity like Kevin, he was as much beast as the creature himself was. And also was as much capable of powerful affection.

He lifted that clawed, bloodstained, dangerously hot hand from where it rested loosely on the table and pressed his lips to the back of it. Kevin made another noise- a bit like the cheerful sound earlier, but more strangled.

Without another word, he left in a pass of expensive cologne and dark tailored cloth. Unlike his father, he had a tastefully dramatic streak.

When he arrived at his car, a new driver opened the door for him. Unwisely, he spoke.

“Sir, I’m not sure if you know, but there’s a bit of blood on your lip,” he said deferentially. The corners of Diego’s mouth twitched- upward, not downward- and he nodded and got in the car. He didn’t wipe it away, and during the meetings, he was pleased to note many of the people’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, and then away uncomfortably. Maybe he would take a leaf from Kevin’s book and start wearing blood like an accessory. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for comments. I'm weak to comments. I'm an absolute spineless slug for comments. Basically, I love getting feedback and it makes me so stupidly excited to get feedback, that I'll post with a frenzy of bees and euphoria. Bizz buzz. Let me know what you think! Predictions? Criticizing? Human, animal, or elsething sacrifices? Your childhood pet's middle name? Put 'er here.
> 
> (My tumblr: http://fauxfoxfanatics.tumblr.com/ come say hi!)


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